Organized Adventures
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: An A-Z collection of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, family, and friends.
1. Ablepsia

Elizabeth was almost asleep. She was lying on the floor just staring at the ceiling. She was just thinking that she should probably go to bed. It was almost midnight.

Sherlock was in his Mind Palace. He was working on a case. He was on the couch in his dressing gown, fingers steepled.

John had fallen asleep. He was slumped into the side of his armchair, cradling the union jack pillow. He was snoring softly.

And then the lights went out.

Elizabeth gasped, now completely awake.

Sherlock snapped out of his Mind Palace, startled by Elizabeth's gasp.

John started, eyes flying open.

Elizabeth was frozen, hardly daring to breath. Why had the power gone out? There wasn't a storm or any winds.

"John, you did remember to pay the power bill, right?"

"Yes, of course I did, Sherlock!" John whispered.

"Alright, phones?" Sherlock was taking control of the situation.

"Bedroom," Elizabeth replied. They were all whispering as a precaution. The fact that what could be a simple, mundane power outage made them all jump to the conclusion of danger said a lot.

"Same," John answered.

"Mine's dead," Sherlock told them.

"What do we do?" Elizabeth asked. None of them had moved an inch. Not that they could see to do so. The curtains had been drawn, so no light came from the windows.

"Well, by now Mycroft knows what's going on," Sherlock said. "He either sees the pitch black or the feed was cut along with the power."

"We need to get into one of our rooms or something," John suggested. "Until we know what's happened, we need to take caution. At least Mrs. Hudson is away."

"Doesn't she always seem to be when these things happen?" Elizabeth made an attempt to lighten the conversation.

"Alright, we can go to mine," Sherlock offered. "It's closest, and I think I have a flashlight in my bedside table."

"What about a phone, though?" Elizabeth reminded them. "Mine is right on my bed. I can get it easily."

"I can find my gun in the dark too," John supplied. "I can get it and grab Elizabeth's mobile on the way back down."

"You shouldn't go alone," Elizabeth argued.

"She's right, John," Sherlock agreed. He probably nodded too. "All or none."

"Fine, let's go then." John stood slowly. Elizabeth sat up, and Sherlock got up from the couch. Elizabeth saw a blob hover in front of her face, and she realized that it was Sherlock's hand. She took it and stood, reaching for John as well. She found his hand, and he accepted hers.

Together they all made their way to the doorway, which was an impossibly faint outline.

"Seventeen steps," Sherlock said as they began to climb the steps carefully. Elizabeth's room was first. When she lit her phone up, they all squinted, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Using the light of her phone, they retrieved John's gun and mobile as well.

Now amply lit, they went to Sherlock's room.

Elizabeth called Mycroft, who answered sleepily, "Please tell me Sherlock hasn't blown something up."

"No, we've lost power." Elizabeth explained quickly. "We were wondering if you knew why."

"People are onto it as we speak."

"Wait a second," Elizabeth turned to Sherlock and John. "Mycroft, how did you _not_ know that we'd lost power?"

A realization spread across Sherlock's face, "Oh for God's sake!" He suddenly ran from the room. John bounded after him.

Elizabeth sighed as she realized what was going on as well.

Of course.

Mycroft had cut their power so that he could bug their flat. Sherlock had annoyed him more than usual last week, and this was how Mycroft got revenge.

To make matters worse, that was also the moment Elizabeth's mobile chose to die, leaving her in total darkness.

"Nice," she complained to the blackness.

Suddenly a hand was across her mouth.

Elizabeth tried to scream, but she couldn't. She brought her hands up to the hand on her mouth and tugged desperately.

"Elizabeth, it's me!" Elizabeth recognized the whisper instantly. It was Norman. He was one of Mycroft's lackeys.

Elizabeth sighed and dropped her hands. Norman removed his hand slowly, afraid she would still scream.

"Sorry," Norman apologized. "I didn't want you to scream and cause Dr. Watson to shoot me."

"It's fine," Elizabeth waved his apology away. And then she remembered that he couldn't see her. "How long will the power be out?"

"Another two hours," Norman said sheepishly. "I'm sorry. He thought it would be best to do it this way. Do the upstairs while you guys regroup in the living room, and then do the downstairs while you guys get the gun from upstairs. Unfortunately, you three walk quickly. I had to hide in the closet."

"Where are the cameras?" Elizabeth knew that Norman would tell her. All of Mycroft's minions, and the British Government himself, had a bit of a soft spot for the mini-detective.

"Mycroft told me to give you this," Norman found her hand in the darkness and pressed a piece of paper into it. "It's the locations of all the cameras. He trusts that you won't remove them, and that you will burn this paper after you read it."

"Don't I always?" Mycroft's cameras came in useful, Elizabeth didn't even bother denying it. She never told Sherlock where they were, because he would remove them all just out of spite. Elizabeth knew that those cameras saved their lives sometimes. They had definitely saved hers.

Besides she knew that her uncle never put cameras in her or John's rooms or the bathroom. He did monitor Sherlock's room, but he made sure that only he had access to that feed.

"How exactly do you plan to get out of here?" Elizabeth asked Norman.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Norman whispered.

"I would say just book it out the window," Elizabeth said honestly. "He'll know you've been in here anyways. There's really no point in trying to sneak out."

"Good point," Norman crossed to the window which let in the tiniest bit of light. He pulled the window open with a loud screech, which was immediately followed by thundering footsteps running towards the room. Elizabeth watched Norman climb down the fire escape before closing the window.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?" John said frantically. "What was that noise, and where are you?"

Sherlock clicked on a flashlight, "She was abedding a criminal. She let him out." Sherlock just sighed, knowing Elizabeth wouldn't give the man up.

Two hours later, as Norman had promised, the power came back on. The renewal of the lights actually startled John and Elizabeth awake. Leaving John falling back asleep in his armchair, and Sherlock still searching for the cameras (he'd only found three, Norman was getting more creative,) she trekked to her room.

Collapsing onto her bed, she pulled the piece of paper from her pajama pant's pocket.

 _Inside living room lamp – Nina_

 _New one in the skull – George_

 _Above kitchen sink – Michael_

 _Living room mirror – Norman_

The list went on for twenty cameras. It gave the location of each camera, and who was charged with monitoring it. Elizabeth was impressed that Norman had managed to mount so many in so little time.

Before going to bed, Elizabeth peeked her head out her bedroom door and waved to Julian, who watched the camera in the clock in the hallway.


	2. Badinage

"Where did John go?" Elizabeth turned to her father, who had obviously just surfaced from his Mind Palace.

"He went out on a date, remember?" Elizabeth rolled over on the couch, facing Sherlock. "He left like three hours ago."

"Why is he on a date?" Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"Oh, you know," Elizabeth said. "He likes this girl. They talk a few times. He suggests that they go to dinner sometime, and she agrees. That means that she likes him back. This is one of those dinners where two people who feel a mutual attraction explore their feelings for each other."

"Sounds tedious," Sherlock swept out of his leather chair and dropped onto the floor. He looked up at Elizabeth, who hung her head over the front of the couch. "Is that why you do it? To explore your feelings for a man?"

"Alright, first of all," Elizabeth began. "At my age, the male species are not referred to as 'men' merely boys or guys. It was really weird to hear that word come out of your mouth in that context. Secondly, dates for teenagers are actually more for exploring the feelings about yourself. It's more about decoding what you're feeling and how to control those feelings. As adults, dates mean something more. They mean: I am considering you as the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. For teens, it's more about testing the waters and learning about dates and love in general."

"Again, why do you do it?" Sherlock threw his arms above his head.

Elizabeth grinned maliciously, "Mostly to experiment with sex. You know, how to get a boy to kiss me and take me to bed."

Her father's expression was priceless. He sat up quickly, eyes wide.

"Oh my God, I was kidding," Elizabeth laughed. "Come on, you know me."

Sherlock sighed and laid back down. After a few minutes, he asked, "Do you think John will get married and move out someday?"

"For his sake, I hope he does," Elizabeth said. "For yours, I hope he doesn't."

Sherlock gave her a look that said _be serious_.

"I mean, I don't know," Elizabeth shrugged. "I'd hate to see him go, but I want him to be happy. And if happy for him is having a wife and kids, then I hope he gets just that."

"You're not as selfish as I am, then," Sherlock admitted. "I wish that John never finds a woman to settle down with. Not that I don't want him to be happy, I just..."

"No, I get it," Elizabeth said. "You're just afraid that he wouldn't chase criminals with you anymore. You don't want to lose him."

"I don't want _you_ to ever find a boy either," Sherlock remarked, gazing up at his daughter.

"I don't think you have to worry about that for a long while," Elizabeth chuckled.

"It will be here before I know it," Sherlock mused. "Time seems to do that. To just slip away and leave us wondering where it's gone. Someday a boy is going to ask me to give my blessing so that he can marry you. On that day, I'll think to myself _Wasn't it just yesterday that Elizabeth and I were discussing one of John's dates? She was telling me about why people date. I just thought it was tedious_. Elizabeth, today will become a yesterday, which will become a last week, which eventually becomes a last year, and even a last century."

"That was very profound, Dad," Elizabeth praised. "Don't let Anderson hear you say that, he'll make Lestrade do a drugs bust."

"Everyone knows I haven't done drugs since before you were born." Sherlock said. "Besides, I got that from some talk show. Mrs. Hudson was up on Monday."

"That explains it," Elizabeth smiled. "She made me watch one of those weird make-up shows."

"How did you survive?" Sherlock gasped sarcastically.

"I didn't," Elizabeth quipped. "Can't you tell, I am the ghost of Elizabeth Holmes!"

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and put his arms behind his head. "Promise me something?"

"It depends."

"That's not what you're supposed to say," Sherlock remarked. "You're just supposed to say 'anything.'"

"Yeah, but then you'll tell me that I can't read for a month. When I protest, you will remind me that I promised."

"Fine," Sherlock allowed. "Will you consider to promise me something?"

"That I can do," Elizabeth nodded.

"Stop growing up. Just stay like you are right now."

"I'll ask the Universe if it will let me defy the laws of nature," Elizabeth commented. "I'm sure it will refuse vehemently."

"Then at least promise me that you won't suddenly turn into some hormone-driven, petty human."

"I think if I was going to do that, I already would have," Elizabeth assured him. "What made you afraid that I would do that?"

"Anderson was on the phone with his new girlfriend's teenage daughter," Sherlock explained. "Every other word out of her mouth was obscene, and she obviously had no respect for her mother."

"Don't worry," Elizabeth told him. "I have the highest respect for you, and I always will."

"I want you to know that I respect you as well," Sherlock said. "When I say that the entire world is comprised solely of idiots, I'm not including you in that generalization."

"Thank you," Elizabeth chuckled. "I'm glad to know that I'm merely stupid and not quite an idiot."

Sherlock just smiled. A few minutes later, he asked, "How long are these infernal date things? Hasn't John been gone for three hours already?"

"It's only nine," Elizabeth said. "It's still fairly early. Besides, he might not come back at all tonight?"

"Why wouldn't he come back?" Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows.

Elizabeth stared at him, "Think about it for a second." Sherlock frowned, but he complied, putting his I-am-in-deep-thought-disturb-me-and-you-will-feel-my-wrath face on. Elizabeth waited patiently.

"Oh!" Realization spread across Sherlock's features, and he made a sour face. Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh. "Is that common after a date? To _not come back home_?"

"Sometimes, it just depends."

"You've always come back after your dates," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"I am not having this conversation with you right now," Elizabeth shook her head.

"I'm glad you come home," Sherlock told her. "I prefer not to think about what could happen if you didn't."

An almost awkward silence followed. Elizabeth finally decided to break it, "You want to see what Lestrade's doing?"

"Might as well."

Ten minutes later, they were on their way to a crime scene.


	3. Cachinnate

Lestrade didn't understand how they could do it.

But there they were.

He wasn't mistaken.

Sherlock, John, and Elizabeth were laughing.

They were laughing loudly.

They were laughing loudly at a crime scene.

They were laughing loudly at a crime scene, squatting beside the bloody, mutilated corpse.

Lestrade couldn't believe it.

"What is so funny?" He bellowed. The clowns ignored him, carrying on their laughter. "This is a _crime scene_! Earth to the Holmeses and Dr. Watson, this is a bloody _crime scene_!"

"Precisely," Sherlock giggled.

Lestrade threw his hands into the air, exasperated. "Tell me what the joke is, because I certainly don't understand it!"

That just made them all laugh harder. Lestrade took a deep breath.

"Will you _stop it_!" Lestrade was this close to grabbing Sherlock by his navy scarf and throttling him.

Was it possible for three human beings to laugh any harder or louder?

Evidently so.

The poor DI just gave up at that moment. He sighed and went outside. He walked and walked until he couldn't hear the chortling any longer. After a few minutes, he took a tentative step back towards the house. When he realized that they had finally quieted, he strolled back inside.

The moment the three musketeers caught sight of him, they erupted into more laughter. Lestrade whipped out his handcuffs and restrained Sherlock Holmes.

He then proceeded to drag the chuckling detective outside and dump him in the mud puddle on the pavement.

That shut him up.


	4. Defiliation

Sherlock was going to rip James Blue apart when he got his hands on him.

The vile excuse for a man had kidnapped Elizabeth four hours earlier.

He would be dead in three seconds.

Sherlock and John had tracked Blue and Elizabeth to a warehouse. Lestrade met them in the parking lot, John having sent him a quick text the moment Sherlock had deduced his whereabouts.

"Sherlock, you cannot kill him," Lestrade warned. "Rest assured, though, if he does so much as touch Elizabeth or pull a weapon, I will shoot him."

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade sneaked into the warehouse, weapons ready. Sherlock could hear a masculine voice yelling words he couldn't make out. The three set off for the voice, quickening their pace.

They ran when they heard a cry of pain.

Sherlock rounded the corner first. Elizabeth was tied to a chair, her mouth gagged. She had a triumphant look on her face. Sherlock felt a flash of pride when he saw Blue on the ground, clutching his groin. Elizabeth's feet were unrestrained, and she must have kicked the insect.

Lestrade and John pounced on the man, securing him.

Sherlock ran to Elizabeth, pocketing his gun as he did so. He ripped the gag out of her mouth.

"Finally," Elizabeth exclaimed. She sprang from the chair when Sherlock cut her arms loose.

"Are you hurt?" Sherlock took her face in his hands, searching for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth insisted, waving his hands away. She watched as Lestrade slammed Blue into the ground, daring him to move. John came up beside her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, performing his own examination.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth repeated. "He barely touched me. He was too busy freaking out and ranting about how he'd messed up."

"That's good," Lestrade said as another Yarder appeared and hauled Blue away. "I'm glad he didn't hurt you." He gave Elizabeth a little wave before following after his suspect.

John hugged Elizabeth. He looked between her and Sherlock, "You know, I'll go and see if Greg needs help. Blue may need his nuts looked at."

Elizabeth grinned sheepishly, staring down at her feet.

Well, this was awkward. Sherlock didn't know what to say. This wasn't his area.

"Thanks for looking for me," Elizabeth said. "And thanks for finding me too. You've got good timing. I don't know what he'd have done to me after I kicked him if you hadn't shown up."

Sherlock said nothing. He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

Elizabeth turned to leave, but Sherlock pulled her back. He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. Sherlock tightened his grip, nestling his face in her blond hair.

Elizabeth said nothing, she just hugged him back.


	5. Epexegesis

John was getting slightly frustrated. Lestrade was getting very frustrated. Anderson had already been thrown out of the crime scene for being extremely frustrated.

Sherlock and Elizabeth were doing that _thing_ again.

That _thing_ where they both knew what was going on, and where they had wordless conversations with their icy blue eyes. That _thing_ where everyone else melted into the background, and it was just them and their deductions.

That _thing_ was quite annoying for everyone else in the room.

"Holmeses!" They didn't look up at John's call. They just kept staring into each other's eyes. If they weren't father and daughter, Lestrade could have arrested them for those looks.

"Come on, guys!" Lestrade pleaded. "Tell us already, please!"

Five more times, Lestrade and John called for them. Annoyed by the yelling, Donovan strode briskly in and snapped her fingers in between their faces.

Elizabeth and Sherlock never broke concentration. Donovan sighed and left, having made her move.

"He's going to kill me," Lestrade murmured as he went to kneel beside Sherlock. John watched incredulously as Lestrade slapped Sherlock across the face.

That certainly got the detective's attention.

Sherlock shot to his feet with a growl, glaring daggers at Lestrade. Elizabeth was snapped roughly out of her reverie. She blinked a couple of times to get her bearings back.

"Tell us what you've figured out," Lestrade stood, considerably calmer and little smug.

"Oh, Inspector, I think it's painfully obvious," Sherlock snarled. "I'm sure Scotland Yard can deduce it." With that, he swept out of the crime scene.

"Elizabeth?" The DI turned to her. "Please?"

"She was killed by her brother," Elizabeth explained. "He used a candlestick, and she was killed in a diamond necklace that he yanked off of her neck."

"Thank you," Lestrade said, glancing at where Sherlock had disappeared. Elizabeth followed after her father.

"How do they do that?" John asked incredulously.

"We mere mortals will never know."


	6. Familism

Sherlock would normally have laughed at his brother's obvious discomfort. But at the moment, he was just as uneasy. As was Elizabeth, who tensed minutely.

Mycroft had 'kidnapped' Elizabeth, and Sherlock had come to the Diogenes to fetch her for a crime scene. In the middle of their familial discussion, a man had entered and informed Mycroft that a Russian dignitary was there to see him.

Mycroft couldn't turn away the Russian, and the big, burly man had burst into the room before he could tell Elizabeth and Sherlock to scatter.

The three Holmeses had been standing in a semi-circle facing the door. Elizabeth had been in the middle, and Sherlock and Mycroft inched closer to her when the stocky Russian had come in.

"Ah, Mr. Slavonek," Mycroft smiled tightly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Mr. Holmes, I am here on a...delicate business," the Russian said, glancing to Sherlock and Elizabeth. "I must insist that your brother leave. Your lovely niece may stay of course." Slavonek gave a grin that was probably supposed to be warm and inviting, but it was just very creepy.

"I'm terribly sorry, but Sherlock must stay," Mycroft was unyielding. "Or you may come back at a later date if you so wish."

The Russian scowled, "Come now, Mr. Holmes. Surely you realize the importance of my information. It cannot be entrusted to the ears of just anyone."

"I assure you," Mycroft said calmly. "Sherlock is not 'just anyone.' I'm sure you've heard of him."

"I am aware of his...exploits," Slavonek sneered. "He has quite the business going with young Miss Holmes and Dr. Watson. It is very quaint. But it is not _his_ services I require."

"My daughter is very busy with another case at present," Sherlock cut in. Who did this guy think he was? He had no right to try and get her to help him.

"Maybe, _Sherlock_ , she should be able to decide that for herself," Slavonek was this close to being throttled by the world's first consulting detective.

"Mr. Slavonek, would you kindly return at a later date?" Mycroft was still calm, but Sherlock could sense an underlying hostility.

Mr. Slavonek looked like he wanted to argue until his face turned blue. But apparently, the combined facial expressions of the Holmes family convinced him he would get nowhere. He scowled and glared at the family before stomping out of the room.

The Holmes Three watched him go, each internally cheering as he went.


	7. Gormless

Elizabeth knew that her father was often frustrated with the supposed unintelligence of the Yarders. Especially the alleged dullness of Anderson and Donovan.

Elizabeth was well-aware that technically everyone was an idiot compared to Sherlock Holmes. The only person that was able to reach his level was Mycroft, who might even surpass it occasionally.

But that didn't mean Sherlock had to make sure everyone knew how far below him they were.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade scolded. "Is it necessary to establish your intelligence at every single crime scene?"

"They may forget, Inspector," Sherlock didn't look up from the corpse he was examining. "We surely wouldn't want that, would we?"

No one really blamed Anderson for what happened after that. No one except Sherlock, of course.

One moment Sherlock was standing there absorbed in his very interesting body.

The next he was crouched on the ground, clutching at his jaw. Anderson had appeared out of nowhere and just _swung it_. Now he was breathing hard, fists clenched.

"Anderson!" Lestrade grabbed his subordinate by the arm and dragged the fuming man outside.

Elizabeth bent next to her father. She felt slightly terrible that she was trying to force herself not to laugh.

It had just been too hilarious.

"I'm so sorry," Elizabeth bit her lip, but it betrayed her. Sherlock scowled, rubbing at his jawline. "But that was _amazing_!" Anderson had stood up for himself. Even though he had punched her father, Elizabeth was almost impressed. She harbored a bit more respect for Anderson now.

"Tell me no one took a photo of that!" Sherlock glanced around the crime scene, but it had been mostly deserted when they had arrived and still was.

"Oh, don't worry," Elizabeth grinned. "Mycroft has his ways."


	8. Harridan

**Author's Note** **: Hello, good peoples! I hope everyone is doing well. It's so good to be back! I've missed you all so much!**

 **Without further ado...**

Martha didn't know why she bothered to dust 221B's kitchen. Half of the time she couldn't even stand to be in the room on account of how many body parts Sherlock had lying around. She supposed it was just habit more than anything else that made her attempt to clean it.

At that moment she was trying her best to scrub out the fridge's produce drawers. Martha had thrown the fingers she'd found into the trash can, but she left the ears on the top shelf. They were stewing in some nasty, green liquid that she didn't want to risk spilling.

"Hey, Mrs. Hudson," Elizabeth greeted, coming into the living room.

"Good morning, dearie," Martha smiled back. "Where are your father and John?"

"John's still at Jordan's, I'm assuming," Elizabeth replied. "I have no idea where Dad is."

"Oh?" Martha was always ready for a bit of juicy gossip. "And how is it going with Jordan?"

"Good, I guess," Elizabeth shrugged. "I mean, he's stayed over three nights this week already."

Martha squealed happily, "I'm glad John's finally found a good man."

Elizabeth frowned, "Jordan's a woman."

"Ooh, a woman?" Martha pulled a string of what looked hair out of the drawer.

"Yes, a woman," Elizabeth laughed, coming into the kitchen. "John's not gay, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sure, sure," Martha said. "I still don't think John should give up on Sherlock quite yet. They really are wonderful together."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Elizabeth cracked up even more. "My dad's not gay either. He had me. That took a woman, if I'm not mistaken."

"Of course, dear," Martha decided to let it go for now. Although, she would make sure to confirm that this 'Jordan' was actually a woman.

Suddenly the front door slammed open. It was so loud that the two in the kitchen could hear the wood smacking off the wall.

Elizabeth rushed downstairs, "Dad! I hope you haven't broken the door! Couldn't you just...Mrs. Hudson, RUN!" Martha heard pounding footsteps as Elizabeth came running back up the stairs, someone hot on her heels. Elizabeth slammed the door to the kitchen closed, protecting Martha inside.

Martha rushed to the glass door, peeking out into the living room. She watched in horror as a tall, muscular man that certainly was _not_ Sherlock Holmes threw Elizabeth across the room.

Martha screamed in anger. She searched for the nearest weapon, which happened to be her duster, and brandished it threateningly. She burst into the living room.

The man was busy tying Elizabeth's hands. All of his attention was focused on the unconscious girl. Martha took her chance and ran up behind the man. She slammed her duster down onto his head with as much force as she could muster.

The brute didn't even cry out. He just slumped to the floor, out cold. Martha gave him a few more whacks just to be sure before rushing to Elizabeth. She untied the girl and did her best to knot up the man's hands. She dragged Elizabeth away from the man, placing the union jack pillow under her head.

Duster poised to attack if the man woke up, Martha called Sherlock.

" _Sherlock Holmes_."

"Oh, Sherlock! You've got to come home right now!" Martha's adrenaline began to ebb, and she found herself starting to sob.

" _Mrs. Hudson, are you alright? What's happened?_ "

"A man broke in, and he tried to kidnap Elizabeth. She's unconscious."

" _What?! Alright, I'm five minutes away. Call John._ "

When Sherlock hung up, Martha called the doctor.

"John, Sherlock said to call you. A man broke in and tried to take Elizabeth. He knocked her out."

" _I'm coming. I'm going to walk you through some things you can do until I get there alright?_ " Martha dutifully followed every instruction.

Sherlock came racing in. He immediately knelt next to his daughter, checking her pulse. "What happened, Mrs. Hudson?"

"I was just in the kitchen cleaning your fridge. The front door banged open loudly, and Elizabeth ran down because she thought it was you. She yelled at me to run, and she closed the kitchen door. I saw him throw her, and I picked up my duster and went in. He was tying her up, Sherlock! I gave him several good smacks." Martha said a little hysterically. Turning away from Elizabeth, Sherlock led Martha to the sofa and sat her down.

They heard a curse from downstairs and then footsteps as John came up. Seeing Elizabeth lying on the floor, he instantly went to tend to his patient. Sherlock sat on the floor next to Elizabeth while John examined her.

"She's going to fine, Sherlock," John assured him. "She's just unconscious. She should wake up any moment now. I don't even think she'll have a concussion." Sherlock relaxed visibly.

Confident that his daughter was safe in John's care, Sherlock got up and stood in front of Martha, taking her hands in his. "Mrs. Hudson, I don't know how to thank you. You saved Elizabeth from God knows what."

"Oh, I'm just glad that I could," Martha had calmed now, and some of her rage returned. She glared at the man that was still out in the other corner. Everyone had almost forgotten about him. "He wasn't going to take her under my watch." A rustle from the corner alerted them to the stirring of Elizabeth, who was just fine.

Mrs. Hudson, leave Baker Street? England would fall indeed.


	9. Ignavia

**Author's Note: What's going on, mes amis? I hope everyone is having a good night! Enjoy, and thanks for reading!**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth skipped down the stairs, cheery in the early morning. All she needed was a fresh cup of hot coffee, and then she could start her day. She was about to bounce into the kitchen when she was hit in the back of the head with something round and soft. Stopping in the hallway, she picked up the offending object: one of John's wooly, red socks.

"I think you dropped this in my direction," Elizabeth walked into the living room and stood in front of her father, who was stretched out on the sofa. Elizabeth balled the sock back up and 'dropped' it back at Sherlock.

"I need you to check on the fingers in the microwave," Sherlock said, launching the sock at the smiley on the wall.

"Why?" Elizabeth was a little wary to go near one of her father's experiments. A couple of months ago, she and Sherlock had gotten stuck in a pool of slime. They'd had to cut the slime with a knife to get out.

"Because if they aren't turned over every hour-"

"No, I mean, why do _I_ have to do it?" Elizabeth tried her best not to sound like a petulant child.

"I'm too bored to move," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. Elizabeth deliberated whether it was even worth arguing with her father. After a moment of thought, she decided it really wasn't.

Sighing slightly, Elizabeth traipsed into the kitchen. She opened the microwave and reached in for the fingers. Which were...not fingers.

It was a cardboard box. That contained a snake!

Taken by surprise, Elizabeth screamed and dropped the box. Free at last, the snake slithered out of the kitchen. Startled by his daughter's scream, Sherlock (who had been too bored to move five seconds before) came rushing into the room.

"What happened to the fingers?" Sherlock asked. "Did they turn yellow yet?"

"They weren't fingers, Dad!" Elizabeth threw her arms up in frustration. "It was a snake!"

Sherlock's expression turned horrified, "Then where are the fingers?!"

"Who cares about the stupid fingers?!" Elizabeth yelled back. "There is a snake loose!"

"Oh, Elias?" Sherlock said. "He won't bother anything."

"Dad!" Elizabeth argued. "We need to find that snake before-"

A yell from upstairs cut her off. Elias had found John.


	10. Jarta

**Author's Note** **: Hello, wonderful, wonderful peoples! I hope you are all pink, fluffy unicorns with plenty of rainbows to dance on! Or at least, I hope you are all Batman. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!**

 **Without further ado...**

Lestrade's face fell when Sherlock and John entered his crime scene. "No offense, John, but I thought I asked for Elizabeth. Not you two!" Sherlock had been especially annoying recently, and Lestrade was punishing him by not giving him cases. Fortunately, he could carry out his revenge while still catching all of the killers by enlisting Elizabeth to help him. Not for the first time, Lestrade thanked the Universe for making it so that Sherlock's daughter was not at all infuriating.

Sherlock and John didn't even seem to hear Lestrade. They were too caught up in their own conversation.

"I just don't see your point," Sherlock was saying as he bent over the body.

John stood next to him, "All I'm saying is that I think it's interesting."

"How is it interesting?" Sherlock picked up the dead man's hand and dropped it, letting the appendage slap to the ground. "It's just something I've never done."

"Lestrade," John turned to the DI, who really didn't want to brought into the conversation. He didn't know what it was about, but he was sure he was better off ignorant. "What are your nicknames for Elizabeth?"

"What?" Lestrade was so confused.

"Alright, so have you never noticed how Sherlock doesn't call Elizabeth anything other than _Elizabeth_?" John asked Lestrade.

"Well, that's her name..." Lestrade wasn't exactly sure how to respond. Sherlock chuckled at his answer, but John scowled.

"Yes, I know that," John said. "But have you ever shortened it? Like I call her 'Liz' sometimes."

"Well, when she was little I used to call her 'Little Bit'," Lestrade replied.

"You knew her when she was little?"

"Lestrade has been giving me cases since before Elizabeth was born," Sherlock piped up from his deductions. "Actually, he's her godfather."

"Really? I didn't know that," John looked at Lestrade. "So 'Little Bit' then? See, Sherlock, Lestrade had a nickname for her. Surely you did too."

Lestrade thought for a moment. He couldn't recall ever hearing Sherlock call his daughter by anything other than Elizabeth. Even when she was four and he was carrying her around the crime scene, it was always Elizabeth.

Sherlock just shook his head, turning his attention back to the poor bastard on the ground.

"Oh, wait!" John's exclamation almost caused Lestrade to jump. "That one time that you poisoned us with that loopy stuff. You called her 'Lizzy Girl'! I can't believe I forgot about that!"

"I don't think that counts, John," Sherlock straightened and pulled off his leather gloves. "I was barely coherent at that time."

"No, it does," John insisted. "That stuff acted as a sort of truth serum too. I said some things that were true, but that I didn't ever mean for you two to know."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, "John, I do not see why this matters."

"It doesn't, it's just intriguing," John said.

"Yes, yes, we've heard this before," Lestrade cut in, getting a little annoyed. "Everyone focus. Sherlock: body. Begin the degrading speech about stupidity and idiocy, and let's get on with it!"


	11. Kalon

**Author's Note** **: Bonjour, good peoples! I hope you are all doing well. Thanks for reading And a big thank you to everyone who has and might in the future...maybe?...hopefully?...please?!...review. I've had so much fun writing these up, and I love to hear what you all think of them.**

 **Without further ado...**

John couldn't help but stare at her. No matter how hard he tried not to, his eyes just kept gluing themselves back onto her. God, Maria was just so beautiful.

"John," Sherlock snapped his fingers in front of John's face. Literally snapped out of his reverie, John blinked.

"Yes?"

"Stop staring at her," Sherlock chastised. "I'm fairly sure you're drooling."

"Sorry, I just..." John trailed off. "Damn." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Wait. Oh, Maria was coming closer. She was coming over to _John_.

"Are you Watson?" The angry tone caught the smiling John off-guard.

"I'm sorry?" John asked.

"You deaf or something, boy?" Maria sneered. "I asked you if you were Watson."

"Uh, no, I'm not," John lied. A moment ago he would have been overjoyed to let the gorgeous beauty know his name. Now... Suddenly, she wasn't so attractive.

The woman turned on her heel and stomped off.

John gaped at Maria's retreating back. How could something so beautiful be something so hateful? John refocused on the dead corpse, only to find that Sherlock was trying not to laugh. John shoved him.

"Hey, guys," Elizabeth bent next to Sherlock. "Anything delightfully distracting?"

"Quite," Sherlock answered, gazing intently at the dead woman's left wrist.

"Oi!" Oh, good God! She was back! "You, girl. Kid."

Elizabeth straightened. John hadn't noticed how tall Maria was the first time. She towered over Elizabeth then. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Don't sass me, child."

"Er, I'm sorry," Elizabeth was flawlessly polite, even as Maria glared her down.

"Are you Watson?" Maria asked.

"No, ma'am." Elizabeth replied.

"Do you know where I can find Watson?" John blanched.

"No, ma'am. I don't. I'm sorry," John sent a prayer of thanks to Elizabeth.

"Now don't be lying to me, girl," Maria waggled her finger at Elizabeth. Sherlock glanced up at Maria and went to stand, but Elizabeth waved him away. But Maria noticed Sherlock about to rise, and she stared at him. "What? You want to say something to me, boy."

"Please don't talk to him like that," Elizabeth defended, standing up for her father.

"What did you say to me?" Maria took a step forward, crowding into Elizabeth. This time both Sherlock and John stood up, but Elizabeth didn't even flinch. "You think you can mouth off to me, girl?"

"I only ask that you treat my father with the respect he deserves."

Maria looked to Sherlock, who stood behind Elizabeth, and then back to the girl in front of her, "Oh, so you're his little accident, aren't you? One two many beers, ay Mr. Trench Coat?"

John was restraining Sherlock now. And man was the detective putting up a fight to take a swing at Maria.

Elizabeth clenched her fists. For a moment, John was a little afraid that Elizabeth was going to punch the bitch. Luckily, she didn't. John had a feeling that Maria would punch back, about a million times harder. Instead, Elizabeth took a deep breath and walked away.

She walked away!

Maria's mouth dropped open, and Sherlock stopped fighting John's restraint. All three adults stared after the teenager. With a last glare at Maria, Sherlock and John followed Elizabeth's lead.

They found her outside, leaning against a streetlamp.

"Ugh, I would have killed to have her body, but she was so rude!" Elizabeth said.

Sherlock put his arm around his daughter's shoulders, "Elizabeth, you are beautiful just the way you are. Even more so than that woman, because you are kind, selfless, and brave."

"Watson?" The three of them turned to see Maria talking to Anderson. "Yeah, he's right there."

Sherlock, Elizabeth, and John took off running down the pavement.


	12. Laetificate

**Author's Note** **: Hola, my fellow cool kids. I hope everyone is having a great November. Me? Well, I think that watching Supernatural while writing my Sherlock fics just about makes a great night. Hooray for a fifteen year old body that can stay up all hours!**

 **Without further ado...**

Sherlock knew that Elizabeth sad. What he didn't know, was why. And he was determined to find out.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked, dropping onto the floor next to Elizabeth, who was sprawled on the living room carpet. "What's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth replied. But the way she stared at the ceiling gave her away.

Sherlock put his hands behind his head and did what he did best: thought. He thought about what he used to do when Elizabeth was little and he wanted to make her feel better.

"Don't even think about it," Elizabeth knew exactly what her father was thinking.

Sherlock ignored her, "Elizabeth, I have an idea. And you know me, all my ideas are brilliant."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned away from Sherlock, facing the couch. "Dad, come on."

"Oh, but it is a wonderful idea," Sherlock continued. "Such a fantastic idea."

"Dad!" Elizabeth moaned.

"An amazing, dazzling, fabulous idea," Sherlock beamed.

"Alright, fine!" Elizabeth gave up. "What is your brilliant, wonderful, fantastic, amazing, dazzling, fabulous idea?"

"Let's sing!" Elizabeth had known this was coming. Sherlock was going through the same motions he always did.

"What do you want to sing?" Elizabeth wasn't smiling yet, but she would be soon. Sherlock was determined to have her laughing with him by the time this was done.

"Well..." Sherlock took a deep breath. "'The lights go out, and I can't be saved. Tides that I tried to swim against have brought me down upon my knees. Oh, I beg, I beg and plead singing you are, you are.' Come on, play the game, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth sighed, "'You are the only one. And all my friends have gone to find another place to let their hearts collide. Just promise me you'll never leave.'"

"'Leave out all the rest. Forgetting all the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well, pretending someone else can't come and save me from myself. I can't be who you are. I can't be who you are. When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done.'" Sherlock continued the game.

"'Done with your selfish ways and all the games you play. I'm through with you and everything you say.'" Elizabeth's mouth started to turn up at the corners. Sherlock struck on gleefully.

"'Say something. I'm giving up on you. I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. Anywhere, I would have followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you.'"

"'You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time,'" Elizabeth sang. "'But that's okay, I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine.'" Alright, alright! You can stop this now! I'm smiling."

"Good," Sherlock was satisfied with his efforts. He was pleased that he still had the ability to cheer his little girl up, even though she wasn't so little anymore. The detective knew that he had gotten very lucky with how Elizabeth had turned out. Growing up with no mother and a father like him could have made her different. He was grateful that she was such a kind, gentle, brave, amazing young woman.


	13. Macilent

**Author's Note** **: Hola, good peoples! I hope that everyone is tweeting excessively, happily #OhWhataBeautifulDay!**

 **Sorry, this is a bit long. My Muse just wouldn't stop!**

 **This is a bit darker than usual. I almost didn't post this to be totally honest.**

 **Without further ado...**

John shifted his bags to one hand so he could open the door to 221B. He did so quietly, figuring that Elizabeth would be asleep. It was only two in the morning.

Sherlock and John had been in Dublin searching for a stolen diamond. They had asked Elizabeth to come on what had initially been projected as only a three day trip. She had declined (she was working a case of her own), and when three days had turned to two weeks, John had started to worry just a little bit. He could tell that Sherlock did too.

John and Sherlock had thought that Mrs. Hudson was home while they were away. But when she sent them a picture of her on an island beach holding a cocktail, they realized that she had left the day after them for a cruise.

They'd mostly kept up a continuous text conversation with Elizabeth. John was starting to like GroupChats. John had always meant to call at least once, but Sherlock would dash off right when he was going to.

So John was coming back after two weeks. Sherlock was still in Dublin searching for that diamond, which John was beginning to think had been thrown into the ocean.

Not that they were a bit worried. Not that Elizabeth couldn't take care of herself. John had to get back to the surgery anyways. He was starting to wonder if Mycroft threatened his bosses so that they wouldn't fire him.

John traipsed silently up the stairs and into their flat. He reached the landing, about to climb the next set of stairs, when he noticed a light emanating from the living room. Setting his bags at the foot of the stairs, John opened the door to investigate.

Elizabeth was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the space over the sofa. John moved closer to her, she didn't even seem to notice him.

The wall above the couch was covered in crime scene photos, notes in Elizabeth's handwriting, and strands of green string connecting certain papers to others. John looked to Elizabeth, slightly concerned.

It was then that he noticed.

Elizabeth was too thin; she was almost gaunt. She gazed at her notes with sunken eyes. Her hands shook as she reached across to tug at one of the strings.

"Elizabeth?" John asked worriedly.

Elizabeth faced him, "John, I can't figure it out. I'm not Dad. I tried and tried, but I can't do it."

"Elizabeth, how long has it been since you've slept?" John said gently. "Or eaten for that matter?"

Elizabeth seemed to think for a moment, "How long have you and Dad been away?"

And with that, she collapsed.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Sherlock walked triumphantly out of the building. He was gleeful after giving his big reveal. The diamond had still been at the museum all this time!

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, intending to call for a cab. What he saw on the screen shocked him. Ten missed calls, one voice message, and five texts from John.

He read the texts first.

 _Sherlock, answer your phone!_ -JW

 _Call me_ -JW

 _Call me now!_ -JW

 _Sherlock, I swear if you don't answer._ -JW

 _Hurry_ -JW

The most recent one was timestamped at two hours ago. Sherlock pressed open the voice messages.

" _Sherlock, it's me,_ " John was clearly frantic. " _Elizabeth's sick. Really sick. She collapsed when I got back. She's in hospital right now, and they're trying to figure out what happened. You need to get back now._ "

Sherlock ran.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

John hated waiting rooms. He despised the hard, uncomfortable, plastic chairs. He wanted to splash something brightly colored onto the blindingly white walls.

Most of all, he hated the waiting.

For a soldier who was used to battle, and running about after Sherlock Holmes, waiting was not a favorite pastime. It provided way too much time to think about the worst possible things that could be happening.

The last doctor to talk to him had said something about a glucose issue. So, Elizabeth hadn't eaten in a while. And it looked like she hadn't been sleeping either.

Her case must have been so pressing that she had turned into her father. John could only wonder at how Elizabeth could've gone two weeks in the state she was in. He decided that she must have been eating for a bit after they left. Even the Holmes stamina couldn't stretch that far.

John began to berate himself for not calling her once. Just one call could have made a difference. Maybe Elizabeth would've mentioned that her case was bothering her, and John could've helped.

And maybe they shouldn't have left her there alone in the first place. Yes, she was fifteen. Yes, she solved crimes. Yes, she was smart. But Elizabeth still needed some looking after. She needed someone to remind her to eat and sleep apparently.

John knew that the adults in Elizabeth's life often forgot that she wasn't a grown-up too. She acted mature, more mature than her own father at times. She was a thousand times smarter than most of the adults as well, and that was probably most of it. Elizabeth Holmes was reliable, intelligent, kind, and gentle. She knew who she was.

"John!" John jerked out of his reverie to see Sherlock sink into the chair beside him.

"Sherlock, where have you been?" John snapped. "I left you tons of messages!"

"I didn't see them until thirty minutes ago."

"Wait," John deliberated that. "How did you get here from Dublin in only thirty minutes?"

"I am not at liberty to answer that," Sherlock said. "How's Elizabeth?"

"The only thing I've heard is a glucose issue," John answered. "But, Sherlock, you should've seen her. She was skin and bones. I don't think she'd eaten or slept for at least a week."

Sherlock let his face fall into his hands, "I should've called her. Or at least made sure that someone checked in on her when I knew that Mrs. Hudson wasn't there."

After a few minutes of dejected silence, John said, "You know, she reminded me of you. She had her case notes and crime scene photos tacked to the wall like you do. And, of course, she went so deep that she compromised her own health. Sound familiar?"

"No case is worth that," Sherlock said pointedly. "I realize that I tend to not eat or sleep while I work a case, but I'm an adult. And I haven't ever done it for two weeks."

"True, you usually collapse by four days," John piped up.

"I resent that," Sherlock joked, attempting to lighten the mood. "I've lasted at least six days before, I'm sure of it."

John could see that Sherlock was barely holding it together. He was just about to find a doctor himself when one walked in.

The young doctor made a beeline for Sherlock and John. No doubt he recognized the consulting detective from the papers.

"Mr. Holmes, would you please come with me to a private room so we can discuss your daughter's condition?"

"John must come as well," Sherlock said, standing. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him too."

"Very well," the doctor led the way to a conference room, where Mycroft and Lestrade waited.

"When did you two get here?" John asked, baffled. He had been waiting in that room for three hours. Had Mycroft and Lestrade been here all that time?

"I just got here a few minutes ago," Lestrade replied. "Mycroft called me in to help with technicalities with the Chief."

"Technicalities?" John echoed, confused.

"Child abuse charges," Sherlock clarified. "I left Elizabeth alone for two weeks."

"Sherlock," Lestrade began, "if I'd known that Mrs. Hudson had gone away..."

"You are not at fault, Inspector," Mycroft cut in. "When Sherlock and John left, I should've come back from Russia immediately."

"I won't be charging any of you," the doctor piped in quickly. The other men glanced at him. "You all could even blame me for this."

"You?" Lestrade asked the question they were all thinking.

"I'm Doctor Griffin Morgan," the doctor introduced himself. "Reid, your daughter's best friend, is my youngest son. The case Elizabeth was working on was my wife's sister's murder. I personally asked Elizabeth to consult when the police came up with nothing. She brought more to the case than any of them had been able to. I'm confident that she would've solved it in the end. Scotland Yard had given up months ago."

Meeting silence, Doctor Morgan continued, "I know your lifestyle, Mr. Holmes. And more than that, I know your daughter. She and Reid galavant about London at all hours. This wasn't negligence on her part, or yours for that matter. The only thing you underestimated was her commitment. Elizabeth is much like you, Mr. Holmes." A silence followed as everyone processed his words.

"Alright, then," Lestrade was the first to speak.

"Is Elizabeth going to be okay?" Sherlock asked worriedly. "Can we see her?"

"Her glucose levels dropped dangerously low," Morgan told them. "From my estimations, she probably stopped eating about eight days ago. The only reason she managed to stay awake and functioning this long was that she was downing coffee by the barrel. Black coffee. She's kept herself awake artificially for seven days, I think."

"Oh my God," John ran his hand through his hair. He really had fortunate timing. If his train had gotten delayed by even an hour, Elizabeth might have been dead.

"You can see her," Morgan said. "She's asleep right now. She will be for a while. Her body needs to rebuild itself and rest up."

Mycroft led the way to the private suite he had gotten Elizabeth situated in. Sometimes it really did pay off to have an uncle that was the British Government.

What touched John was what, or rather who, was occupying the chairs lined up outside Elizabeth's room.

Reid, Sam and Dean Winchester, and Cas Novak were all sitting in vigil outside of their friend's hospital room. They rose when the adults approached.

"Mr. Holmes," Reid stepped forward. "I'm so sorry. We didn't know..."

"It wasn't your fault," Sherlock assured the boys gently. He dipped his head at the boys as he, Lestrade, Dr. Morgan, and Mycroft passed into the room.

"Thanks, boys," John stopped to say before he entered the room. "I'm sure that Elizabeth would appreciate your being here."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Sam said politely. The others echoed his words.

"You're all good boys," John remarked as he stepped into Elizabeth's hospital room.

Sherlock had already taken the chair beside Elizabeth's bed. He looked like a statue, and John figured that he wouldn't be moving for awhile. Lestrade and Mycroft were hovering somewhat awkwardly by the window. John crossed over to stand behind Sherlock, placing his hands on the back of his chair.

"She's going to be okay, Sherlock," John said, believing every word.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. He didn't even know how long it had been. The only reason he ate the food stuffed in his direction was because his daughter was lying in a hospital bed for refusing it.

At the moment, John was asleep, stretched across the black, leather couch. One of the nurses had thrown a blue blanket over him at some point. He looked almost peaceful while he slept.

"Dad?"

The softest murmur from the bed had Sherlock's heart racing. Elizabeth was blinking sluggishly, gazing up at her father. "Dad, what happened?"

"Elizabeth," Sherlock whispered, overjoyed. "Your glucose levels were too low, and you collapsed when John got back."

"Oh," Elizabeth looked ashamed. "I'm so sorry. I was just trying to solve the case. I didn't...I didn't really notice that I wasn't eating. And I had to stay awake."

Sherlock took one of Elizabeth's hands in both of his, "Elizabeth, I am so sorry. I should never have left you alone that long. I got caught up in the case, and I..."

"Both of you, just shut up," John came up beside the bed, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "It's no one's fault. Stop blaming yourselves. Let's just learn our lessons from this and move on. Now, come on, Sherlock. We both need to go home and change clothes. We are starting to smell."

"I can't leave her alone," Sherlock shook his head.

"We're not leaving her alone," John assured him. "There are four boys sitting outside that have been there since yesterday. I think they all skipped school waiting for her to wake up. They will look after her while we freshen up."

Sherlock stood reluctantly, knowing that John was right.

On their way out, they let Reid, Sam, Dean, and Cas to see their friend. Before the door closed behind them, Sherlock looked back at his daughter.

Her face had lit up when she saw her friends. Each of the boys came up to her and hugged her, and she squeezed them tightly back.

The door to the hospital room closed with a click.


	14. Nemorivagant

**Author's Note** **: Bonjour, good peoples! I hope that everyone is doing fantastically!**

 **Guys, we're at fourteen! I'm half-way done! Gosh, how time flies!**

 **Okay, maybe slight spoilers for the Hounds of Baskerville for this one. But I made some changes, so it really doesn't count.**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth clutched her torch a bit more tightly as she, Sherlock, and John followed Henry Knight through the woods of Dartmoor.

It wasn't that she was afraid. She really wasn't. The darkness didn't bother her. Okay, maybe the idea that a gigantic Hound from Hell could be roaming around made her a bit uneasy... But that still didn't count as fear.

A twig snapped somewhere out in the darkness, and Elizabeth jumped slightly. She looked over at John, who walked beside her, and he returned her gaze. His eyes said that he wasn't entirely comfortable either, and Elizabeth felt better for that.

Spurred on by the noise, Sherlock and Henry surged forward, picking up their pace. John and Elizabeth, with a silent agreement, followed more slowly, taking careful steps.

If they'd strode forward with the other two, they never would've seen the light on the hill.

As it happened, Elizabeth was looking out over the moor, ignoring Henry and Sherlock, who were out of sight now.

Then she saw it.

Like the beam of a lighthouse. On the top of the closest hill, a spot of light was flashing. Short and long flashes.

Elizabeth stopped staring at the flashing light. She heard John halt as well, wondering what she was looking at.

All at once, the light stopped flashing. And then it started again.

"It's Morse," John deduced, squinting at the light. "E-L-I-Z-A-B-E-T-H. What?"

Elizabeth was running for the hill by the 'Z'. She heard a muffled curse, and John was charging after her.

"Elizabeth, wait!" John drew up beside her. "What if it's a trap?"

"It's not!" Elizabeth yelled back. She knew who it was.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

 _Three days earlier_

 _"Reid!" Elizabeth shouted. "Reid, please!"_

 _"No," Reid didn't stop walking away. "Just...no!"_

 _"Why not?" Elizabeth pressed. She caught Reid's arm, and he reluctantly turned toward her. "We're good friends. We care for each other. And I like you, this could work!"_

 _"No, it really couldn't!" Reid protested._

 _"Why not?" Elizabeth repeated. "Tell me why! Tell me why we can't be more than friends! You said that you wanted to just yesterday. What's changed since then?"_

 _"I don't want to risk it!" Reid explained vehemently. "I don't want to risk losing your friendship over something that won't last!"_

 _"How can you know if it won't last if you don't even try?" Elizabeth argued. "All I'm asking for is a chance. One chance!"_

 _"No," Reid pulled his arm from her grasp and walked away._

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Elizabeth was running as fast as she possibly could. When she reached the top of the hill, there he was, holding the largest torch she had ever seen.

Reid started to talk, "Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I do want to try..."

Elizabeth threw her arms around him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you if you didn't want to. Your friendship means everything to me, and I don't want to lose it."

Elizabeth gazed into Reid's hazel eyes, and he looked back at her.

"If you want this," Reid said gently. "Then I want it too."

"I do," Elizabeth's heart poured into her words. "I really do."

Reid leaned down and kissed her.


	15. Obsequy

**Author's Note** **: Hola, mes amis! I hope that everyone is doing well this evening!**

 **Is it bad that the stuff that I enjoy reading the most is my own?**

 **Maybe a little bit. But to be honest, it's not at all that I think I'm a good writer (I don't), it's actually that I put so much of myself into my characters. Every story I write is one of my dreams being typed out. Each adventure is one I've envisioned happening in real life.**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth's fingers couldn't seem to move. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't make the words come.

Reid looked up from his own empty page, "Anything?"

"Nothing," Elizabeth dropped her pen in frustration. "I can think of everything I want to say, but I can't..." Elizabeth dropped her head into her hands.

She heard a rustle, and then Reid's arms were around her. He had got up from the couch and come up behind her chair.

"Well, then maybe words aren't the way to go," Reid said gently.

"It's a eulogy, Reid," Elizabeth reminded him. "Those usually involve speaking, which involves words."

"But words aren't the only way to convey feelings," Reid glanced pointedly at something resting in the corner of the room.

And Elizabeth understood.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The minister stepped away, and then it was Elizabeth's turn. She walked up before the coffin, and then she turned to face the small crowd.

"Oliver was important to all of us," she began. "He always had a smile for your sadness and a torch to light up your darkness. Words just can't express who Oliver was, and what he did for us. So, I thought this would be better."

Elizabeth shouldered her violin and began to play.

She started off with lower, gentler notes to convey their sadness over Oliver's loss. Next came a few slurs to send him on to Heaven. The middle was a melody filled with artful vibrato, telling Oliver that they would see him again soon. Finally, Elizabeth finished with a flourish that celebrated Oliver and thanked him for everything he did for everyone.

When her last note rang off into the distance, Elizabeth looked around at the crowd. In the people, she saw a mix of tears and tranquility.

Words aren't the only way to convey feelings. And sometimes, music says more than you ever could.


	16. Permix

**Author's Note** **: Hello, home slices! I hope that everyone is having a Sherlock evening with a side of John happiness.**

 **Wow, that last sentence made zero sense. Oh, well.**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth stared out among the crowd from her corner. Her fellow wallflowers, Reid, Sam, Dean, and Cas, shuffled uneasily.

"We are so unsocial," Sam observed. "What is wrong with us?"

"Maybe it's a good thing," Elizabeth said, watching as a pair of drunk girls staggered past.

When the vapes came out, Elizabeth's eyes widened, "Okay, we need to get out of here now."

Nodding their agreement, the group made its way to the door. It took several minutes, considering the size and drunkeness of the other kids.

Once they finally got out of the warehouse, Elizabeth drank in the fresh air.

"Phew, glad that's over," Dean remarked. "I think we all might be a little high by just breathing it in."

"Well then let's get higher," Reid winked. "Who wants to go to the Roof?"

"Did you bring up the firepit?" Dean asked Cas as they started for Cas' flat.

"Yep," Cas replied. "I set some wood out on a tarp too. And I assume that you have a lighter, Dean?"

"Always," Dean smirked. "Who would I be if I didn't?"

"Yeah, Dean without a lighter would be like... I don't know, what would that be like?" Sam wondered.

"Cas without his wings," Reid answered quickly. Cas smiled looking down at the eagle's wings that hung from a pendant around his neck. Elizabeth couldn't remember a time when she hadn't seen him wear them.

They all turned onto Cas' street. Passing his building, they walked down the alley beside it. Sam, who was the tallest, jumped for the fire escape ladder, sending it clanging to the ground.

They climbed the ladder one by one. When they were all up onto the landing, Reid pulled the ladder back up. There wasn't much wind as they climbed up the fire escape, but it did get colder as they got higher.

The firepit was waiting on top of the roof. Dean got the fire going quickly, and they huddled around it for some warmth.

"Isn't this technically illegal?" Sam asked, looking a little concerned.

"Don't you ask that question every time we come up here?" Reid remarked coyly. "Relax, Winchester. Elle, put on the playlist, and let's start Truth or Dare."

"Playlist starting," Elizabeth pulled out her phone and started their Truth Be Told playlist. A compilation of Ed Sheeran, Christina Perri, and Hurts was good for truth-telling and daredevil stunts.

"Okay, lady and gentlemen," Dean announced. "We all know the rules. Truth be told or dare be done. Refuse to answer a question or get caught in a lie, and you have to do a dare. Refuse a dare, and you have to answer a question truthfully. Any questions before we begin?"

"You really enjoy being the commentator, don't you?" Cas commented.

"Yes, I really do," Dean grinned. "And now we begin. Elizabeth, will you pick your first victim, please?"

"Okay, let's see..." Elizabeth scanned her friends. "Sammy, truth or dare?"

"Let's start with a bang," Sam crossed his arms. "Dare."

"I dare you, Sam Winchester, to prank call my dad in the most cliche way possible."

"Oh, this is going to be good," Dean said, watching as Sam dialed Sherlock Holmes.

Sam put the phone on speaker, " _Sherlock Holmes_."

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," Sam pitched his voice higher. "I was calling to see if your refrigerator was running."

" _What? Yes, it is. Who is this?_ "

"Well, if it's running, you better go catch it," Sam hung up with a laugh.

"Very cliche," Dean nodded in approval. "Nice job, Sam. Now will you kindly chose your victim?"

"Alright," Sam rubbed hands together, smirking maliciously. "Who to choose..."

"Come on, Sammy," Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She shuffled her feet, shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her black coat.

Sam gave one last grin before exclaiming, "Castiel Alexei Novak, truth or dare?"

Cas flinched minutely at the sound of his full name. "Really, Sam?" he sighed. "Truth."

"Aw, come on, Cas," Dean drawled. "Don't be like that. Be a man. Pick a dare!"

"Choosing to bare your soul instead of performing a stupid prank or stunt could argueably be more masculine. Considering the fact that it might require more courage," Reid remarked, earning himself a scowl from Dean.

"Oh, whatever!" Dean scoffed. "Sam, ask the question."

"Cas, have you ever-."

"Oi!"

The kids jumped. Elizabeth and the boys whirled around, seeking the source of the shout.

"There," Reid whispered, pointing over to the building across the road.

Elizabeth looked to see a man standing on the roof of the building across from them, waving his arms in a thousand different directions.

"Is that bloke...drunk?" Sam wondered aloud, squinting his eyes. Reid switched on his flashlight app and shone it across to the man.

Sure enough, the light caught on a young-looking guy in a green hoodie, who was clutching tightly to a beer bottle.

"Hey, mate!" Dean yelled to the man. "You alright over there?"

"Peachy, my dude!" the guy screamed back, head arched to the sky like he was howling to the moon. He drained the rest of the beer in the bottle. "You guys want some?"

"Uh, we're good!" Elizabeth answered.

"Here," the drunkard slurred. "Take this one! I'm done with it." With that, the man chucked the beer bottle across to the other roof.

"Whoa!" Dean pulled Sam aside just in time for the bottle to shatter where he had been standing. "Yo, buddy! Maybe you should get yourself back home!"

"Yeah, yeah," the man waved them off and disappeared into the shadows.

The kids chuckled. "We should get ourselves back home too," Reid said, glancing at his watch.

"Probably a good idea," Sam agreed, and the others nodded too.

They joked around and talked as they slid down the dark green gutters that were bolted to the side of the building.

Sam, Dean, Elizabeth, and Reid waved goodnight to Cas, and they watched him walk into the door of his flat.

The remaining four parted ways at the street. Winchester brothers towards Freedom Avenue and the young lovers towards Baker Street.


	17. Quintessence

**Author's Note** **: Bonjour, mes amis! It certainly has been awhile.**

 **Not that anyone cares, life has just been happening, and I haven't really had the inspiration to write anything. I'm trying to get it back though.**

 **Without further ado...**

 _Elizabeth pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening as the sound bounced off the alley walls._

 _Her aim was perfect, and the man who had been choking Sherlock dropped to the ground. Elizabeth stared with bated breath, but the man didn't move._

 _Oh, god._

 _Had she really just...?_

 _Oh, god._

 _Sherlock picked himself up off of the ground and walked over to his daughter. "Congratulations," he said. "You're a murderer."_

Elizabeth shot awake, breathing hard. The tendrils of her nightmare still clung to her, and she remembered vividly exactly how she had felt when she saw that she had killed that man.

She had felt a part of her wrench and snap apart. It had hurt, like a physical hurt, and Elizabeth could still feel the ghost of that pain. Even though she hadn't really done it in real life, Elizabeth felt as if her very soul had somehow grown darker.

Elizabeth figured that she was probably being overdramatic. But she still couldn't shake the bad feeling in her bones. Knowing she wouldn't be sleeping anymore, Elizabeth trekked downstairs in search of something to keep her occupied.

She found her father sitting at the kitchen table asleep, his head resting on his folded arms. Elizabeth went to see what he had been doing, and she realized that he was testing the erosion rate of human fingernails. It looked like he had fallen asleep before he could perform the experiment, but he had set his test liquids up.

So Elizabeth did the experiment while her father snored gently on the counter. One by one she placed a fingernail into a test tube and added a liquid, making note of the changes on the nail.

That occupied her for about twenty minutes. After she finished the experiment, Elizabeth cleaned each instrument used meticulously, willing the chore to eat up more time.

As she was scrubbing one of the test tubes, Elizabeth was overwhelmed with a flashback from her dream. Suddenly all she could see was the man falling and moving no more. All she could see was her father telling her she was a murderer. All she could see was the gun in her hands.

Elizabeth panicked and lashed out, smashing the glass test tube against the side of the fridge. The glass shattered, spraying the floor with sharp shards.

Sherlock startled awake. He looked from the floor to his daughter who was standing, fists clenched, beside the sink. "Elizabeth?" Sherlock got down from his stool carefully, trying not to step on any glass. "Elizabeth, what happened?"

At that moment, John came running in. "What's going on?" he asked, noticing Elizabeth's position and her father's cautious stance.

"Elizabeth?" Sherlock repeated, leaning forward to search his daughter's eyes.

"I'm not a murderer." That was all that Elizabeth could manage. But she wanted them to understand that she wasn't a killer. It had only been a dream. She could never kill someone in real life. It was just a dream. It wasn't her.

The men's eyes widened, and John took a slow step forward, "No, Elizabeth, you aren't a murderer. But can you tell me what would make you think that?"

Reality faded back in, and Elizabeth suddenly felt very stupid and embarassed. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, bending down to pick up the bigger pieces of glass. "I'm so sorry."

"Elizabeth, stop," Sherlock said. When she didn't respond, he carefully shuffled over to her and took her hands away from the glass. "Elizabeth, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Elizabeth pulled her hands away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she trailed off, gesturing to the glass.

"Don't worry about the broken glass," Sherlock took her hands again, and this time Elizabeth didn't pull away. She allowed her father to lead her into the living room and into a seat on the couch. Elizabeth could hear John moving into the kitchen to clean up the glass.

"I want you to tell me what's going on," Sherlock said calmly, but Elizabeth detected a large amount of worry in his eyes.

So she told him everything. Everything.

And he listened.

When she was done, Sherlock took her in his arms and said firmly, "Elizabeth Angelica Holmes, you are not a murderer. You are a kind, gentle, compassionate young woman. It was just a dream, nothing more."

Even though Elizabeth had told herself these exact things several times, somehow hearing it from her father made the words hit home.


End file.
